


Long Overdue

by Quinny_555



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College Professor Malcolm Bright, Explosions, Homophobia, Human Disaster Malcolm Bright, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Poisoning, Protective Jessica Whitly, Stabby Stabby, Stalking, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: For the wonderful Jameena's prompt: "I’d like to read an AU where Malcolm and Gil never stayed in touch after Martin’s arrest. When Malcolm’s life is threatened by an unknown enemy years later, Jessica reaches out to the Lieutenant and his team for help protecting her family."
Comments: 68
Kudos: 224





	1. Jessica's Plight

Gil tapped impatiently on his steering wheel. Morning traffic was worse than usual, and he was going to be late at this rate. If he hadn't stopped for coffee… 

When he got to the office Gil was surprised to see a woman standing in front of his desk. She was pacing around his office anxiously and Gil thought that she looked familiar. That is, she looked familiar from what he could see of her. She had her back to the window. He opened the door and she whipped around. 

“Jessica?” he asked. Of course, it was Jessica Whtily- who else would be confident enough to let herself into his office without asking? 

“Gil,” she said, sounding more stressed than he had ever heard her. She looked extremely tense, something unusual for someone so self-assured. He hadn't seen her in person for years, but he did watch the news. She looked even worse than she did the night she found out that her husband was a serial killer. “I-I need to talk to you.” 

“Of course, have a seat,” Gil said, gently guiding her toward one of the chairs opposite his desk. She sat heavily in it, picking at her perfectly done nails. 

“I didn't know who else to call,” Jessica said, sounding on the verge of tears. Her lip trembled slightly and she blinked unshed tears from her eyes. “A-after Martin’s arrest most of the cops in New York aren't fond of our family, and I didn't know who else would even give us the time of day, and oh God,” she stopped, letting her face fall into her hands. She took a shuddering breath. 

“What’s going on, Jess?” he asked gently. She slowly looked up at him, dark hair falling forward to partially conceal her face. 

“It’s Malcolm,” she sobbed. Gil swallowed heavily. He had always been worried about that kid, but Jessica had been very… protective of her children after her husband was arrested. His workload suddenly increased with his promotion and he never had the time to properly be a part of the kid’s life. He wanted to stay in touch, he just never really got the chance. 

“What happened? Is he okay?” 

“I- for now,” she nodded. “He’s been receiving, well, I guess you would call them threats. Whoever is sending them has been stalking him f-for _months_ , and we only learned about them a few weeks ago.” 

“I'm glad you came to me, but I have to ask… why? Why not just file a report at the station nearest your house?” he had to know. Jessica studied him for a moment. 

“Because I don't trust anyone else. I know that you will actually help me and not just offer me platitudes,” she practically spat the last word in disgust. 

“Alright,” Gil said. “Tell me the whole story. Start from the very beginning.” he watched as the tensions drained out of her shoulders. 

“It started, at least, we learned about what was happening two weeks ago. Malcolm received an envelope through the mail containing a letter written to him and… _pictures_ of him.” 

“What kind of pictures?” Gil asked, looking up from the notes he was writing. 

“There were a few of him lecturing, getting coffee, having lunch with Ainsley, at home…” she trailed off as she pulled an envelope out of her purse. “They looked like they were taken from far away with a good quality camera.” she pushed the envelope into his hands. He opened it and examined the photos. Jessica was right, they did look like they were taken with a good quality camera. 

“Was there anything else?” he asked. She sighed and reluctantly pulled another piece of paper out of her purse. It was lined notebook paper, folded in half. She handed it to him hesitantly. 

“This was… also in the envelope,” she said as though she were admitting to something shameful. He opened it and scanned the words. He paled slightly at what he read. 

“I’ll put my two most trusted detectives on it,” he promised. She stood, shaking his hand. 

“I can't thank you enough, Gil,” she said. 

“Of course,” he said. “Just go home and try to get some rest.” 

“I think we both know that I won't be resting any time soon. Have a good day, Gil.” and with that, she was gone. He watched her go, frowning. 

“Powell, Tarmel, I need to talk to you.” 

~~~ 

Dani watched as the professor lectured, though it could be considered more of a rant than a lecture at this point. She tapped her fingernails on the desk. 

“Is it just me, or is this weird?” JT whispered to her. She glanced at him. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused. 

“I know that you never went to college,” he said, “But young professors almost never sound this…” he trailed off. “Most professors who ramble like this have tenure,” he settled on. 

“So?” she asked. 

“It’s just… weird.” JT frowned. The professor didn't look any older than 25, and he was very animated. He had almost spilled his coffee multiple times and tripped over his own feet more than once. The lecture ended and Bright dismissed his class for the day, inviting any student who had questions to speak to him. He sat at his desk, scrolling on his phone. He suddenly paused, looking around the room suspiciously. There were still students packing up and he stood, quickly walking out the side door. Dani and JT shared a look. 

“Did that look sketchy?” JT asked, already moving to follow him. Dani nodded. 

As they stepped out into the hallway a door that said “Exit” shut. They quickly walked to the door, stepping out into an alley between buildings. JT spotted the professors retreating form a few yards away and squinted. 

“Professor Bright!” he called. The smaller man froze but didn't turn around. JT took that as an invitation to walk towards him. He definitely wasn't expecting the guy to turn suddenly, pointing a revolver at him. 

“Who are you?” he hissed, eyes wide. He looked terrified. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” JT said, hands flying up. “NYPD. We just want to talk.” 

“Show me your badges,” Bright demanded immediately. Dani and JT both did as they were bid. He squinted at them for a moment before slumping and lowering the gun. “Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” JT said. “Gil sent us to ask you some questions.” 

“Gil?” Bright tilted his head curiously. “Gil Arroyo? Why?” 

“Why don't you tell us?” Dani asked. “You seemed pretty spooked just now. That have anything to do with why your mom came by the station?” 

“My mother…” he muttered with a sigh. “Of course, let's talk in my office.” 

He led them back to his office, a room off to the side of his lecture hall. The office wasn't huge, but it was cozy. It smelled like chai tea. He sat behind his desk. 

“So, my mother went to Gil; I'm not surprised. She doesn't exactly trust most police to take her seriously.” He tapped his fingers on the desk nervously. “What do you need to know?” 

“For starters, what had you so spooked earlier?” JT asked. 

“Well, you caught me at a bad time,” he laughed nervously. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Dani. She frowned. On the screen were pictures of Bright that had been texted to him. They looked like they had been taken during his last lecture and they had been sent immediately after the lecture. There was a text message right below the pictures. ‘I see you’. 

“Who sent this?” Dani asked. Bright shrugged. 

“It’s an unknown number,” he said. Dani looked to JT. 

“We should get this to Gil, see if he can trace the number back to the sender,” she said. JT nodded and they stood. 

“Wait,” Malcolm said quickly. “I'm coming with you,” he told them, grabbing his coat. 

“What?” JT asked blankly. 

“Well, you're taking my phone, which I don't exactly want to be without right now, and I can't drive myself anywhere.” 

“You can't- why?” Dani couldn't help but ask. Bright shrugged. 

“I don't have a license,” he said simply. She just stared for a moment. 

“Alright,” she said. Malcolm Bright was quickly shaping up to be one of the strangest men she had ever met. 


	2. Consulting and Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm becomes a consultant for the NYPD and one of his students expresses their concerns.

“He pulled a gun on you?” Gil asked disbelievingly. JT nodded. 

“He looked pretty freaked out,” Dani added. She glanced out the office window to where Bright was sitting. She turned back to the conversation at hand. “They get anything on the sender?” 

“No, it was a burner,” Gil said, shaking his head. “We can't trace it, and even if we could, he’s probably already thrown it out by now.” 

“So, we’ve got nothing,” JT said. Dani nodded, glancing back at Bright again. At least, she tried, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes widened. 

“Uh, guys, where’s Bright?” She gestured to where he had been sitting a few moments ago. Gil stood. 

“Crap,” he muttered. Jessica would kill him if anything happened to her son on his watch. Dani walked to where she had last seen Bright. She saw something out of the corner of her eye and sighed. She could see Bright standing in the conference room in front of the case board… shit. That wasn't for civilians. 

“Bright,” she snapped as she opened the door. With how tense he had been all day she had expected him to jump. He was too lost in thought to notice her. He shook his head, muttering to himself. 

“No, no, clearly a sadist.” 

“Bright,” she repeated, snapping her fingers at him. He blinked. 

“Oh. Hi Detective Powell,” he said. 

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, gesturing around. He looked from her, to the case board, to the notes he had been scribbling down, back to her. 

“Profiling.” 

“Profiling?” she echoed. He nodded. 

“I don't know if you were listening to my lecture, Detective, but _this_ is what I teach. And your case, here, is just… fascinating. He’s a sadist, definitely, but not just your run of the mill killer. No, he paralyzes them, though I can't imagine why he would put in that effort, unless…” he trailed off, paling. “How would he know… there’s no way,” he murmured to himself. He shook his head. 

“What, what is it?” Dani asked. His hand began shaking. 

“If I had to guess from the details of your case?” he said, turning to face her. “You have a copycat killer on your hands. And he’s not done.” 

“Malcolm,” Gil said from behind Dani. Bright jumped slightly, not having noticed him before. 

“Hi, Gil,” Malcolm said, waving. The older man studied him for a moment before pulling him in for a brief hug. 

“It’s been too long, kid,” he said, smiling. Internally he was comparing Bright to that terrified child he met over twenty years ago; the kid had changed… a lot. Malcolm smiled back, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, yeah it has,” he agreed. “But there's something you should know about your killer.” He strode toward the case board, movements all manic energy and jitters. 

“Mr. Bright, you-” he started, but Malcolm cut him off. 

“No, just… listen. Your killer is a copycat, and he’s only just getting started.” 

“How do you know?” Gil asked. 

“Profiler, remember? And as for how I know he’s not done? He’s trying to complete the quartet,” Malcolm said. 

“You mean…” he trailed off, eyes widening at the implication. 

“He’s copying the surgeon.” Gil had considered the possibility, but the confirmation hit him like a truck. 

“Who’s the surgeon?” JT asked from the doorway. 

“He was the most prolific serial killer of the early 90s. Dr. Martin Whitly,” Malcolm said. JT frowned. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

“So how does that help us?” Dani asked. Surely she wasn't the only one wondering what this had to do with anything, or why Mr. Bright and Gil kept exchanging glances. 

“Well,” Malcolm said. “If you give me,” he checked his watch, “Eight hours I should be able to have a complete profile ready for you.” 

“Eight hours?” Gil asked disbelievingly. 

“It’s… a generous estimate,” Malcolm admitted. “It'll probably be done in closer to four. I do have one last class that starts in an hour.” He adjusted his glasses. 

“Wait, what? Since when are you consulting with us?” JT said, taken aback. Malcolm flashed a smile. 

“Since now,” he said, turning to Gil. “That is… unless you don't want my help.” Gil considered a moment; if their killer was really copying the Surgeon, there wasn't anyone who knew more about him than Malcolm Bright. 

“Welcome aboard,” he said. 

~~~ 

“Now, you have to understand that people aren't born broken; someone breaks us,” Malcolm said, taking a swig of his coffee. “Our experiences are what form us. People who were abused as children are more likely to become abusers themselves because _that_ is what they were taught. It’s a cycle, it's what keeps the oppressed where they are.” He waved a hand. “But systematic oppression of minorities is its own rant that we don't have time for today. My point is that the reason profiling works is because behavior is a direct indication of a person's circumstances. If we can figure out why someone kills and how we can narrow down the suspect pool significantly. That’s really the goal, here. Any questions?” He sat on his desk, looking at the rows of desks. It was one of his bigger night classes. Regardless of the size of the class, no hands went up. 

“Remember, I'm here for half an hour after class ends to take one on one questions,” he said by way of dismissal. He sat on his desk, lost in thought. 

“Professor Bright?” he heard and blinked. One of his students, a young lady who spoke up in class often, stood there. He was confused; he could have sworn that she was in his earlier class. She wasn't fidgeting, but she looked like she wanted to. 

“Hello, Ms…” he paused, he was sure he knew her name.“Nielson, yes?” 

“Uh, Nelson,” she corrected. He nodded. 

“What can I do for you, Ms. Nelson?” he asked. She ran a hand through her short hair. It was buzzed on the sides, an unusual cut for most women. He noted that she looked nervous, but didn't want to seem like it. 

“Could we talk in your office?” she requested. He nodded. He shut the door behind them and moved to sit behind the desk. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“This might sound crazy, but I think I was threatened during your last class,” she blurted. He sat up straighter. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“Earlier, during your last lecture, someone who I didn't recognize sat a few seats away from me. He didn't have any notebooks or pens or anything and he seemed sketchy to me. He pulled out a flip phone and started taking pictures of you.” Malcolm tensed, but she was too focused on her story to notice.

“It was weird because, well, who uses a flip phone? And you hadn't written anything on the board, so why should he be taking pictures? Your lecture was almost over, so I leaned over and asked him if he had asked for permission to take your picture. He asked me why he should have to and I told him it was just polite and that my girlfriend always asks before she records lectures. He flipped out, called me a sinner. He told me that if I wanted to live in sin I would die in it, too. Sooner rather than later.” 

“Emma, I'm sorry, and that’s terrible, but I need to know what this man looked like,” Malcolm said, gripping the arms of his chair. This was definitely his stalker. 

“He wore a baseball cap and he had a beard. He wouldn't look at me head-on, so I didn't get a good look at him, but he was older. At least in his forties. Heavyset. White,” She listed. Malcolm nodded. 

“Thank you for telling me, Emma. Have you gone to the police?” he asked. She snorted. 

“Do you really think that the police are going to do anything about someone threatening a hate crime? They barely even do anything when someone actually _commits_ a hate crime,” she said. He hated that he could see her point. 

“Alright, we don't have to file a report. Just… be safe out there, okay?” he said, standing. She also stood. 

“You too. It was you he was taking pictures of, after all,” she reminded him with a smile. She ducked out of the office before he could respond. He sighed, gathering his things. Time to start on his profile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone figure out who the stalker is? I'm not really trying to be subtle :)


	3. Bondage Rope and Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm delivers his profile and Dani, JT, and Bright pay a visit to Nico Stavros.

Bright could hear the detectives talking to the M.E. from down the hall. 

“Based on the tox report they were each injected with a different cocktail of paralytic agents that shut their bodies down one system at a time,” she said. Her demeanor suddenly shifted from fascinated to sympathetic. “It must have been agony.” 

“It was,” Bright interjected from the doorway. Everyone turned to look at him. “I imagine,” he added at the looks he got. “I have a preliminary profile.” 

“Damn, Bright, do you sleep at all?” Gil muttered. 

“I got six hours… three nights ago, so I'm good,” he said with a decisive nod. JT muttered something to Dani that Bright didn't quite catch, but he was more focused on the body. He lifted the sheet and raised his eyebrows. 

“Wow, this suture work is amazing,” he said, impressed. Edrisa stared blankly at him. “These Y incisions…” he looked up, catching her eye with a charming smile. “You're like Picasso with formaldehyde.” 

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly before pausing. “And you're… very slender.” 

“Yeah, well, most food makes me sick,” was his response to what he assumed was a compliment. 

“What is happening?” JT muttered. 

“So, your profile?” Gil requested, talking over JT. Malcolm nodded, turning as he put on his gloves. 

“Our suspect is a serial killer superfan. Probably white male- big surprise. He blends in. average size, average height, and smart. He’s a high-functioning psychopath.”

“Sounds like my ex,” Dani said with a snort. 

“He’s also inadequate.” 

“Definitely Kahlil,” she added. 

“He can't craft his own murders, so he mimics the Surgeon. His victims are over 40, white, and wealthy.” 

“They're also strangers,” Gil pointed out. “Nothing connects them.” 

“Except for these,” Malcolm said as he lifted the sheet. “All three victims had the same bruising on their wrists. This does not match the Surgeon’s methods.” 

“Maybe our guy handcuffed Vanessa?” JT suggested. 

“These aren't from metal,” Malcolm said, ducking his head slightly. “My guess is quarter-inch thick Japanese-style bondage rope. Simple but effective.” Edrisa chuckled. 

“Exactly,” she said excitedly. Bright turned his gaze on her. “I-I mean, I agree about the rope and its effectiveness, and uh, everything else that you said. Also, the bruises don't match the time of death.” Gil nodded slowly. “They're from earlier. Three days at least. So the women were all restrained but not on the night that they were murdered.” 

“They were into a Fifty Shades type thing, I got you,” JT said. 

“So, we have three victims, all exhibiting bruising consistent with BDSM. What if the man that Vannessa was a dom? A professional dominant.” Malcolm theorized. 

“He was seeing all three of them,” Gil said, following his train of thought. 

“Right,” Malcolm said.

“If he’s a pro that means that they paid him; I'll track down the bank records,” Dani said, already pulling out her phone. 

~~~ 

Malcolm looked up at the ramshackle apartment building that Nico Stavros lived in. 

“So,” Dani said as they walked into the building. “You don't have somewhere to be?” 

“My next class starts in an hour, so I'm good,” Malcolm said. Dani frowned but didn't comment again. 

“NYPD!” JT shouted as he banged on the door. There was no response. “Lights are off.” 

“Gil said to wait. He’s pulling a warrant,” Dani told him. Malcolm considered for a moment before pulling out his phone. 

“You calling Gil?” she asked. 

“No. Nico,” Malcolm said. She raised her eyebrows. 

“And, how do you have his number?” JT asked. 

“It was in the file,” Malcolm said offhandedly as he put the phone to his ear. “Maybe he’s available for a quick session.” Dani’s phone went off with a text from Gil as they heard ringing from inside the apartment. 

“He’s home,” Malcolm said as the ringing suddenly stopped. Dani showed JT the text and he nodded, bringing his foot up to kick in the door. 

“NYPD!” he yelled again. 

“Clear,” Dani said from the bathroom. 

“Clear,” JT echoed. All of them paused as they entered the living room. There was a table filled with medical supplies. 

“What the fuck,” JT muttered. 

“He’s building electronics,” Malcolm whispered. “Compounding his own drugs…” he looked up. “My profile’s wrong.” 

JT and Dani whipped around, guns raised at a noise on the other side of the tarp splitting the room in half. They moved forward, pushing the sheet aside. A young man sat strapped to a metal chair in the middle of the room. He tried to say something but his mouth was taped over. 

“It’s okay, NYPD,” Dani said as she pulled the tape away. “Did Nico do this to you?” 

“No, man,  _ I'm  _ Nico,” Nico sobbed. “He-he made me call them, set up dates. He’s a  _ psycho _ , man.” There was a crash from somewhere else in the apartment, followed by rapid gunfire. They all dove for the ground. 

“Shots fired!” Dani yelled into her radio. “Anyone hit?” 

“No, we’re good,” JT said. 

“I'm going after him,” Dani said, stumbling to her feet. “Stay with Bright.” she ran out the door. JT watched her go before turning back to the problem at hand. He squinted at the metal restraints on Nico’s wrists. 

“He’s locked in,” JT said. Bright also looked, eyes widening. 

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, staring at the bomb. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” JT hissed. 

“Well, he’s strapped to a chair that's bolted to the floor, which is strapped to a bomb,” Malcolm said as he stood. 

“He didn't need to hear that,” JT scolded at Nico’s terrified squeak. 

“Well, he was going to find out in around seventy-five seconds,” Bright said as he ran to the table. 

“Get me a screwdriver; I can pick the lock,” JT ordered. Malcolm shook his head, mind racing; TV made lockpicking look easy, but it was time-consuming and difficult enough without the added stress of a timmer signaling your demise. 

“No, not enough time,” he was saying when he caught sight of an ax. He stared for a moment. “JT! Kitchen! Get ice; lots of it,” he shouted. JT did as he was bid as Malcolm turned, brandishing the weapon. 

“What are you gonna do?” Nico asked. Malcolm winced. 

“I'm gonna cut off your hand,” he said, a manic giggle escaping his lips. He literally could not believe he was going to do this. 

“What?” Malcolm ignored him, moving forward to kick the chair. It went flying back and Malcolm stood over him, bracing. 

“Look, it’s the only way to get you out in time, and, uh, reattachment surgery has come a long way, so… deep breaths.” he raised the ax, taking a deep breath. 

“No man, don't do it!” JT shouted as Malcolm brought the ax down. Nico screamed but Malcolm was too far gone to notice. He turned and took the ice from JT, picking up the hand and tossing it in. JI starred, frozen, as Malcolm wrapped a dishrag around the wound. 

“I can't lift him on my own JT, and we don't have long!” Malcolm shouted, hoping that JT would snap out of it. Luckily, he wasn't the only one running on autopilot. JT stumbled forward and they lifted the wailing man. Malcolm pulled the fire alarm on their way out.

The explosion rocked the building as the trio made their way down the stairs. It felt like hours, but it must have only been minutes before they made it out onto the street. He saw Dani stumbling away from Gil’s car in the direction of the building. She gaped at them and grabbed Malcolm's shoulders, stopping him from tipping over completely. She stared at his blood-covered face and dilated pupils. He was staring out at nothing and she shook him. 

“Are you okay?” she demanded, but he could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears. 

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “I've got to give them a hand,” he added, stumbling out of her grip and toward the ambulance. 

~~~ 

“I'm fine, and I have a class in twenty minutes,” Bright said as the paramedic continued to insist on checking him over. He pushed the shock blanket off his shoulders and stood.

“Sir, I strongly advise that-” 

“I have a right to refuse medical treatment,” Bright said as he walked away. Dani raised her eyebrows. 

“You know, you should really let them look you over,” she said as he approached. 

“I don't have time, I need to get to class,” he said. 

“Need a ride?” she asked. Malcolm blinked owlishly at her. 

“Don't you have to stay here? You know, lock down the scene?” 

“There’s not much of a scene left,” she pointed out. She didn't mention that Gil had told her to keep an eye on him. He studied her for a moment before nodding. 

On the drive to the lecture hall, she noticed that his hand was shaking again. 

“It's a psychogenic tremor,” Malcolm said upon noticing her subtle glances. Nothing was subtle to him. “I can't control it and it’s triggered by certain high-stress situations. It's a symptom often found in victims of PTSD, and it’s completely involuntary.” Dani took a moment to think about her response as she pulled to a stop outside of the lecture hall. 

“Will you need a ride to the station after your class?” she asked. He tilted his head. 

“How did you know I’d be coming back?” he asked curiously. 

“Earlier, you said that your profile was wrong.” she shrugged. “I figured that you had adjusted it by now.” 

“Yes,” he said as he got out of the car. “To both questions. And thank you for the ride.” 

She watched him go with a sigh. He had almost got blown up less than twenty minutes ago and now he was going to teach a bunch of college students about profiling. Malcolm Bright was a strange man, indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like this story is going to be a lot longer than I had originally anticipated. Buckle up, kiddos :)


	4. Profiling Partners and Serial killer Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm finds someone to help him with his profile. After certain evidence turns up, he decides that it's time to have a long-overdue conversation with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter kinda kicked my ass, but it's fine :)

“Oh, wow, you look terrible,” he heard from behind him and jumped. He turned to see Emma looking down at him, not even bothering to hide her concern. “In the nicest way possible,” she added. 

“Thanks,” Malcolm said sardonically. 

“Does this have anything to do with Flip Phone Mcgee?” she asked. Malcolm blinked, and she sighed. “The guy we talked about last night?” 

“My stalker,” he said, “You nicknamed my stalker ‘Flip Phone Mcgee’?” 

“What else am I supposed to call him?” she asked with a shrug. Malcolm didn't have an answer for that. He turned back to organizing his papers instead. “You never answered my question.” 

“No, this doesn't have anything to do with my stalker. I'm consulting for the NYPD and the case has me a little… frazzled,” he settled on. She nodded thoughtfully. 

“Do you want help?” she offered. 

“Help?” he echoed, clearly not understanding what she was getting at. 

“You know, someone to bounce ideas off of? Profilers work best in teams, and I  _ am _ currently taking an advanced profiling class.” 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked. 

“Is it any worse than the cases you talk about in class?” she countered. He shook his head after a moment of thought. “Then I should be fine,” she reasoned. It may be considered unprofessional, but he really could use the assistance, and when had he ever been conventional anyway? 

“Alright,” he said. “If you don't mind, I would really appreciate it.” 

“I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mind,” she said with a grin. “So, tell me what we know so far.” 

“Well, our killer is definitely a copycat, only I'm starting to doubt that he mimics the Surgeon’s methods because he is incapable of crafting his own.” 

“How do you figure? What makes him different?” she asked, leaning further back in her chair. 

“He has an above-average intelligence. In his apartment, we saw chemicals and pieces of technology. He wouldn't have those things unless he was compounding his own drugs, building things of his own creation. I just don't understand why he would copy someone else when he has all of the tools to form his own signature,” Malcolm said, shaking his head in frustration. 

“Well, what if he just didn't want to?” Emma suggested. Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, urging her to elaborate. “If he’s killing to accomplish a goal, then he wouldn't need to perfect his own style to achieve his results.” 

“You're right,” Malcolm said, eyes wide as he thought about the whole new profile this created. “It makes sense; nothing was stolen, so it’s not money he’s after, and the Surgeon's methods were extremely painful. If he’s killing for revenge he’d want to find the most agonizing way to kill someone.” 

“This file says that the women weren't connected in any way other than their looks and, uh, sexual preferences?” Emma clarified. At Malcolm’s nod, she continued, “Well then he probably didn't know any of them personally.”

“He reminded them of the one he really wants to kill,” Malcolm said. 

“So they were just practice,” Emma said, disgusted. Malcolm nodded. 

“And now he has to finish the quartet; we need to figure out who his final victim is.” 

~~~ 

“Wait, go back,” Dani said when Bright finished explaining the profile. “How do you know he’s bald?” 

“Well, I don't,” Malcolm admitted sheepishly. “But his psychology implies dysmorphia, yet we saw an imposing man back at Nico’s. So, I'm thinking bald.” His phone went off and he checked it. An alarm he had set for himself, a helpful reminder that he had a class in an hour. 

“What’s up?” Gil asked. Malcolm swiped it away. 

“I have another class in an hour, so I better get going,” he said distractedly as he pulled on his coat. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” Gil checked. Malcolm paused, glancing up at him. 

“Um. Yeah.” 

They would not, in fact, see him tomorrow. No, because like a dog with a bone, Malcolm couldn't give it a rest. Well, he couldn't until his body forced him to. So here he sat, staring at the case board and trying to keep his eyes open and think just one (1) coherent thought. Soon enough, however, he lost the battle and fell into a restless sleep. 

Dani was also determined to stay at work until her body forced her to tap out. Staying awake for as long as possible required constant coffee. She was just coming back from the break room when she heard muffled shouting from the conference room. There was only one person in there last time she had checked… 

“Bright?” she called, glancing down the hall that led to the open door. The shouting got louder, became clearer. 

“Don't open!” his eyes shot open and he booked it down the hall, bowling Dani over in his desperation to escape. She grabbed him as they hit the floor, trying to restrain his flailing limbs as her coworkers gathered, pointing their guns. 

“Bright, Bright, relax! Calm down! Don't shoot, he’s asleep! He’s asleep!” she shouted as his trembling form latched on to her. She was the only solid thing he could find and he clung to her as he caught his breath. 

The next morning found Malcolm in Gil’s office, explaining the whole incident. 

“They're called pavor nocturnus. Night terrors, and they're not fun. But on the bright side, they're ruining my life, so…” he shrugged. He looked back at where Dani was getting her third cup of coffee since she arrived. “I didn't hurt her, did I?” 

“Don't flatter yourself. Dani’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us,” Gil said. He sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, kid, I want to keep you on this case, but if you can't control yourself, then we both know what I need to do.” 

“I know Gil, and I'm sorry. I won't let anything like this happen again.” 

“I know,” Gil said. “Which is why I'm not pulling you off the case.” he stood and walked to his filing cabinet. He dropped a box on the desk in front of Bright. “FDI pulled these out of Nico’s apartment.” He pulled out three metal tubes and put them on the desk, gesturing for Malcolm to open them. His hand shook as he read the neat script on the page. 

“These sketches show the first three murders from the Quartet,” he said, looking up at Gil. “My father drew these.” 

“I know,” Gil would recognize the Surgeon’s work anywhere. “But how did our killer get them? Your father’s still locked up at Claremont Psychiatric.” 

“Well, I'll ask him,” Malcolm said. Gil’s eyes widened. He knew that Malcolm hadn't visited his father since he decided to start teaching. 

“No, no way,” he immediately vetoed, “There’s no way I'm letting you go back there. There has to be another way.” 

“There isn't.” Gil could see the conviction in the younger man’s face and knew that it was a lost cause. “He’ll only talk to me.” 

“I can't let you do this, Bright,” Gil said. He was the one who had let the kid get so invested in this case. 

“I'm not asking.” 

~~~ 

“Malcolm,” Martin said warmly. “My boy.” 

“Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm’s greeting was cold in contrast. 

“God, I can't believe it,” Martin said disbelievingly, “Seven years.” 

“Nice cell,” Malcolm changed the subject. “Who paid for it?” It sure as hell wasn't his mother or any other self-respecting socialite in New York. 

“You'd be surprised at what our Saudi friends would pay a disgraced cardiothoracic surgeon.” Malcolm chuckled humorlessly. Martin squinted at him and he braced himself for the inevitable analysis of his mental state. He had told Dr. Whilty when he left that he wanted to help shape minds, and if he wanted to do that he had to have his own stable first. Surely Martin was now thinking back on that remark. “Your eyes. You look exhausted.” 

“Yet you look fresh as a daisy,” Malcolm retorted sarcastically. “Funny how that works.” 

“Well, I'm a vegan now, and I haven't seen your mother in twenty years,” he said with a laugh. Both father and son fell back on humor as a defense mechanism; you wouldn't think it at first glance, solely because their humor was so different. Martin was all pleasant smiles that creased the corners of his eyes, quick-witted but affectionate teasing. Malcolm was sharp smiles that could cut you if you got too close, aloof yet accurate remarks that left you guessing if he was really joking. 

“You have a copycat,” Malcolm said, watching Martin’s reaction closely. The older man shook his head with a smile, not giving anything away. 

“Wha…?” he laughed, “Really? Well, I’m-I'm flattered, really.” Malcolm sighed, opening the envelope he was holding. At the negative reaction Martin changed his tone. “And, uh, deeply concerned.” 

“Save it,” Malcolm snapped, “I know you're helping him.” He held out the notes. Martin paused for a moment before going still. 

“My drawings,” he said, glancing at the shelf. “H-how did you get those?” Confusion dripped from every word. Malcolm couldn't tell if it was genuine. 

“From our killer. Who is he and why are you helping him?” Malcolm pressed. Martin had the gall to look offended. 

“I'm not!” he objected. Malcolm scoffed. 

“Of course you are. You drew these  _ for  _ him, they're proof.” 

“No, they're from my study,” Martin said, looking like a kicked puppy. “Journal nineteen, top shelf.” Malcolm glanced at the journals and back at his father before approaching them. He pulled the journal off the shelf with a glower in Martin’s direction as he opened it. The pages he was looking for were gone. Martin approached, tether dragging behind him. 

“See?” he said, trying not to sound triumphant. “They were stolen. I've been robbed, this is an outrage!” Malcolm had just about enough of his father’s theatrics. 

“Three women have died,” he snapped. His father’s mouth closed with a click at the hostile tone. 

“Sure, yes, that’s an outrage too,” he said, trying to sound guilty. Malcolm didn't buy it. “There can be multiple outrages. But it wasn't me. These journals never leave this cell, and I don't have visitors anymore.” The last part of the sentence was said bitterly. 

“What about your patients?” Malcolm asked as it clicked into place. Martin averted his eyes briefly. It was all Malcolm needed. “Mostly men, wealthy, powerful, morally suspect. They fit the profile.” 

“You're sounding a bit judgy,” Martin said with a frown. “How is your mother, by the way?” Falling back on the humor, again. Malcolm pulled out his father’s files, laying them out on the table in front of him. “Malcolm, what are you doing?” 

“The suspect,” Malcolm said, glancing up, “I think he’s one of your patients.” he began reading through the names. 

“There are forty cases in there,” Martin pointed out unhelpfully. Malcolm sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Uh, okay, these are too young,” he muttered and threw the files aside. “Not divorced, not obese, he died on the table.” 

“No one’s perfect,” Martin said defensively. Malcolm ignored him. 

“No.” Tossed to the side. “No.” Another one bites the dust. “No.” There were too many. “No.” This was taking too long. “No.” He was running out of time. “No.” Only two remained. He held them next to each other. They were similar. Too close to call. 

“You winnowed all those down to just two?” he heard his father ask, breaking through his daze of concentration. “Well, tell me. Who is the killer?” he asked giddily. “I'm on the edge of my seat.” 

“I don't know. There isn't enough detail. I need...” too many variables, not enough answers. A 50/50 guess wouldn't do. He looked up at his father. “...You.” 

“Me?” Martin asked. 

“You're a doctor, people tell you things they don't tell anyone else. What isn't in these files?” Malcolm’s gaze was piercing.

“Son, helping the police- it goes against everything I stand for.” Martin fidgeted, glancing past Malcolm’s shoulder. Malcolm squinted, following the movement. “What?” 

“You're going to tell me,” Malcolm murmured. 

“No, I'm not,” Martin said it like he was delivering bad news to a family after a surgery gone wrong. 

“It isn't an argument. You're afraid- not of the police, not of the killer. No, you're afraid of me.” 

“Wha- that’s ridiculous, I'm not-” 

“It’s all in your body language; you're sweating, the way you're fidgeting, you keep looking at the door. You're afraid that I'm going to leave and not come back,” Malcolm observed, staring his father down. Martin didn't correct him. “Fine.  _ Help me _ , and I'll come back.” 

Martin squinted at him. He stepped closer to loom over the shorter man, cable snapping as it pulled him to a stop. Malcolm stood his ground. Martin reached out and grabbed the red file, turning it over for Malcolm to see. 

“Carter Burkhead,” he said quietly, “The developer. He had his heart attack whilst whipping some poor submissive in a sex dungeon.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm said before practically running out of the cell. 


	5. Martyrs and Zealots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick TW for brief slurs at the end.

“Gil and JT are still with Nico,” Dani explained as they walked through the lobby together. 

“What is this?” Malcolm asked, looking around at the expensively dressed guests. 

“I don't know, some sort of charity event that the Berkheads hold for their club,” Dani said. She made a face as a woman wearing too much perfume walked by them. Malcolm pulled her to a stop. 

“Their club?” he asked before lowering his voice to a whisper, “Which club?”

What’s it matter, you a member?” She asked skeptically. Malcolm looked around nervously. 

“Uh, let’s hope not,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together, “What do we know about Carter Berkhead?” 

“Old money,  _ lots _ of it. This is him and his wife Blair,” she said, showing him the photo of the couple. 

“Huh, so he is bald,” Malcolm said with a grin. “Let’s go find him.” They walked about three yards before Malcolm pulled her to a stop again. He groaned, spinning around to face her. 

“Detective, we’re in trouble,” He muttered. 

“What?” Dani immediately said, hand moving to her gun as she scanned the room. Malcolm, following the movement, raised a hand. 

“Nope, not that kind,” he said quickly. Dani raised her eyebrows. “Um, do you see the woman in the blue dress?” 

“Yeah, isn't that-” 

“My mother,” Malcolm finished for her. He smoothed a hand over his face, fidgeting. “Is she looking this way?” Dani glanced over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” She said and Malcolm sighed. 

“Maybe you should draw your gun,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder briefly. 

“Why don't you draw yours?” she countered sarcastically. 

“We should split up,” Malcolm said suddenly. He was gone before she could respond and she sighed. 

Malcolm moved to the edge of the room, trying to avoid his mother’s gaze. He saw Dani approach Blair. The older woman looked spooked and led Dani to an otherwise sealed off set of stairs. He watched them go, frowning. His phone rang. Gil. 

“Bright,” he answered. 

_ “We’re at the hospital, Nico just woke up,”  _ Gil said urgently.  _ “Carter’s wife, Blair, was one of Nico’s clients.”  _

Malcolm looked up, realization dawning. “She was cheating on her husband with another dom,” he said. “Blair’s the fourth victim.” 

_ “Kid, don't do anything stupid,”  _ Gil warned. Malcolm made his way toward the stairwell. 

“Why would I do that?” Malcolm asked rhetorically and hung up. He ducked down behind a very… loving couple when his mother looked in his direction. When she turned away he slipped into the stairwell and began his ascent. The room was suspiciously quiet and he peeked his head in through the door. Berkhead stood over Dani, her own gun trained on her unconscious form. Malcolm panicked, stepping fully into the room. So much for not doing anything stupid. 

“Decisions, decisions,” he said as the larger man turned the gun on him. “How are you going to do it?” He walked further into the room, closer to Berkhead. “The gun’s too loud and I'm guessing that you don't have enough paralytic agent for two?” 

“Who are you?” Berkhead growled. Malcolm put up a hand in greeting. 

“Malcolm Bright,” he said, pulling off his jacket. “I am,” he pulled the gun out of his waistband “Well, I am armed, but I just want to talk,” he set it down on the floor in front of him. “You're still in control.” 

“Talk,” Berkhead scoffed derisively. “You think this is about control?” 

“Yes,” Malcolm said with a manic grin. It was just like teaching, only less pressure. Standing in front of a bunch of college students on the first day of class was the most stressful thing he could think of; this was child's play by comparison. “Controlling yourself, your passion, what you want, what you  _ desire _ , you have to cause it pain. Especially your wife. You dominated Blair like everyone else.” he switched his tone to sound sympathetic, “Then came your heart attack, and at your weakest moment…” 

“She betrayed me with  _ Nico _ ,” he spat the name in disgust. 

“You lost control,” he said, understanding. He avoided glancing at where Dani was pulling a switchblade out of her jacket. “Of course you had to punish her, make her feel the most pain imaginable. It only makes sense that the Surgeon saved your life.” She swung at his leg and he reacted, stomping on her wrist hard. She whimpered in pain, dropping the knife as he applied more pressure. He kicked the blade away. Malcolm glanced at Dani, making sure she was alright. Berkhead had already moved on, taking a step toward Malcolm. 

“After he saved me I became obsessed with his work. He inflicted pain like nobody else,” there was the hero worship. “That’s where I learned to do this.” he turned the gun on Dani once more as Malcolm dove for the syringe at his feet. Berkhead glared at him, freezing. 

“No,” he hissed. “Don't.” 

“You wanna live up to the Surgeon?” Malcolm shouted. “You want to be the perfect student?” 

“No, that for Blair!” he shouted, full attention on Malcolm. 

“Shooting her doesn't cut it,” Malcolm yelled, voice echoing in the large office. “You need to finish the Quartet.” 

“You don't deserve it,” Berkhead said, pointing at him. 

“That’s the thing, Carter, I do.” he felt tears forming in his eyes. He blinked them away, willing himself to focus. Two lives were on the line. “I do deserve the Surgeon’s pain, because I'm his son.” He didn't break eye contact with Berkhead, letting the words sink in. After a moment of stunned silence he glanced at Dani, who looked like she was putting the pieces together. He took a breath, gathering himself. 

“My real name is Malcolm Whitly,” The confession wanted to lodge in his throat; he forced it out anyway. “I changed it because I wanted to get away from him, from everything he was.” He forced down a sob. “See, I always thought that I was afraid of my father, of everything he taught me. But really, I was afraid of me. So I betrayed him,” Berkhead looked angry at this, but he pushed on. “I learned the art of profiling, taught it to as many students as I could so that they could hunt down people like him. So now’s your chance Carter,” he said, pulling himself up to his knees. “Now’s your chance to kill me. His prodigal son,” he spat the last part of the sentence with disgust. 

“Bright, no!” he heard Dani shout, but he was completely focused on the killer approaching him. Berkhead looked suspicious, but he couldn't resist the opportunity. He put his hand on the plunger and looked Malcolm in the eyes. Malcolm was strung tight as a bow, mind running through all of the ways this could play out, of all the ways he could escape. He heard the gunshot before watching Berkhead hit the ground. He tossed the syringe away numbly, touching the blood on his face. There was shouting and suddenly Dani was in front of him. 

“Hey, hey!” she said as he crumbled. “You okay? Bright, are you okay?” she pulled his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. He scanned her for any injuries and was satisfied when he found nothing obvious. “You weren't gonna let him do that, right? Right?” she repeated the question when she didn't get one the first time. 

“Of course not,” he sighed, “That’d be crazy.” Her face fell and he tacked on, “Who would teach my classes if I were dead?” The joke fell flat and she stood and walked away. He sighed, letting his head fall forward. He knew it was the shock setting in, but all he could do was marvel at the fact that  _ he was alive _ . 

~~~ 

“The Surgeon’s son?” JT said disbelievingly. He knew there was something off with the guy. “Gil, you know I love you, but this is a bridge too far.” 

“Gil, who is he?” Dani asked, shaking her head. “Seriously, why do you trust him?” Gil deliberated, looking down. He considered telling them that it was none of their business, but… they deserved to know. 

“I worked the Upper East Side in ‘98, not far from here. One night we get a call. Some kid, a prank, so they send me to sort it out, apologize to the owners and all that. The doctor who lived there couldn't figure out who made the call,” Gil shook his head. At the time he had completely believed him. “Still, he invited me in, even offered me a cup of tea. That’s how the Surgeon tranquilized his victims; tea laced with ketamine.” 

“Oh,” Dani murmured. 

“One of the doctor’s kids came up to me, told me to take out my gun,” he let out a humorless chuckle. “Of course, I was confused. I thought he was joking until he told me that his father was going to kill me. I saw it in the way he looked at me, in the fear in his eyes when his father glanced at us. He was telling the truth.” 

“Bright called the cops on his dad?” Dani asked. Gil nodded. 

“He saved a lot of lives that night.” He looked at JT. “Including mine. Look, I know that we didn't exactly keep in touch, and that he’s a little different, but I promise; Bright’s one of us.” 

“Whatever you say, man,” JT muttered. He still thought the dude was weird, though. 

~~~ 

Malcolm sighed, setting his phone down on the kitchen counter. Sunshine chirped at him and he smiled. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, walking to her cage to open it. She immediately hopped out of the cage and onto Malcolm’s waiting finger. He stroked her soft head, smiling. 

“Sorry I've been gone so much, pretty girl,” he murmured. She chirped again and he chuckled, setting her on his shoulder as he walked to the sink. He reached out to grab a glass from the cabinet and she flapped her wings in protest. She then decided that the best spot for her would be the top of Malcolm’s head. He let out a startled laugh as she tangled her little talons into his still-damp hair. He shrugged and decided to let her stay where she was. He turned on the tap, watching the water flow into the glass. 

He was snapped out of his daze by his phone going off on the other side of the counter. He blinked and Sunshine took off. He winced as her talons tugged on his hair as she flew away. He watched her go, frowning. That was strange; she was usually all over him when he was home. He turned his attention back to the notification. He felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach at the sender I'D. 

_ Unknown Number  _

He shakily picked up the phone, swiping to unlock it. He opened the message, staring blankly at the pictures of himself. One of him outside of Claremont Psychiatric. Another of him at the police station with Dani. Another of him at the Burkhead’s club earlier that night. He didn't want to read the message below. He couldn't not read it. 

_ Malcolm,  _ it read,  _ It’s nice to know that you've decided to contact your father again, even if it wasn't of your own accord; there may be hope for you yet. The consulting is new, but I hope that it’s not something permanent. That would be bad for everyone involved. Speaking of bad, sinners are not good company to keep. The lord clearly states that all of the fags and dykes should and will be punished. I was able to work through my issues and repent; they should as well. If they refuse to forgo their blasphemous ways they will be punished. You should remember that, Malcolm. Judgment day will soon be upon us and we will meet. Until then, however, I will continue to keep watch. I'm never far. - J.W.  _

Malcolm stared for a long time. He knew that he should let Gil know, but he couldn't make himself move. He was rooted in place as his fury grew. How dare he,  _ how dare he  _ come into Malcolm's classroom, threaten  _ his students _ ? Before he even thought about the consequences that his actions could lead to, Malcolm was typing out the message. 

_ Listen here you self deluded, arrogant zealot. If you even think about coming near any of my students I promise that you will regret it. If you've been watching me then you know that I'm not joking. My students are off-limits.  _

He hit send, white knuckle grip on his phone. He clenched his teeth at the response, resisting the overwhelming urge to throw his phone. 

_ Don't make promises that you can't keep. - J.W.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Okay, so APPARENTLY this didn't post the first time, so sorry if you read chapter 7 before this one :/


	6. Beatings and Metoprolol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm does a little investigating of his own and Dani reaches out for help with a case.

“Calm down, Malc-” Gil was saying as he watched Malcolm pace around his office. 

“Don't tell me to calm down, Gil!” Malcolm shouted. He took a breath before lowering his voice. A temper tantrum wasn't going to get him anywhere. “I'm sorry, It’s just- my students, Gil, he’s threatening my  _ students. _ ” 

“I know,” Gil said. Really, he did. The kid felt responsible for keeping his students safe. “And I know that you don't want any of them to get hurt. But we’re doing everything we can right now.” 

“I know that we don't have much to go on,” Malcolm murmured, running a hand through his hair. He was trying to teach his students how to help catch bad guys when he couldn't even catch one himself. Ridiculous. 

“The best thing that you can do is just keep going about your life,” Gil said, standing. “Try to show him that his threats don't bother you.” Malcolm’s chuckle was devoid of humor. 

“I kind of already showed my hand on that front,” he muttered. He really felt bad about that, but he was just so  _ angry _ . Malcolm was of a relatively calm disposition; it took a lot to get him that worked up. The downside to that was that he had a hard time dealing with his fury when he did lose his temper. Gil passed him, patting him on the shoulder. 

“It'll be alright, kid,” he said comfortingly, “We’ll get him.” Malcolm let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He smiled half-heartedly at the older man. 

“Thank you, Lt. Arroyo,” he said. He knew that the police would apprehend him eventually (probably), but in the meantime… he could do a little digging himself. It couldn't hurt, could it? 

Malcolm would soon learn that it, in fact, could hurt. Because looking into shady criminals was a very good way to get yourself hurt. He figured that looking into a cult of religious zealots would be a good place to start his investigation. 

“Why do you want to know about us?” the guy who was currently beating the shit out of him asked. Malcolm spat on to the ground next to him, only mildly concerned about the metallic taste or red tint. The guy kicked him again and he hissed. 

“I- I have a stalker,” he gasped. The beating paused and Malcolm took advantage of the hesitation. “He has some sort of, uh, religion-based psychopathy as far as I can tell. He believes that he is on a mission from God and that those who don't follow conventional standards are sinners. He would be on the taller side, in his forties, white, have a beard? You know anyone like that?” 

“As far as you can tell?” He asked incredulously. Malcolm nodded weakly. 

“Profiler,” he said, “So I take it you don't know anything about that?” 

“No, man,” the guy said, pulling his foot back for another kick. “And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be telling you.” he snarled. Malcolm scrambled back, looking around the alley to make sure no one else was around. He pulled his gun from his waistband and the guy froze mid kick. 

“Good chat, but I think I'll be going,” Malcolm said, shoulders slumping as he stumbled to his feet. The guy clenched his fists but let the smaller man pass. Once Malcolm was away from the alley he put his weapon away and hailed a cab. 

“Where to?” the driver asked, not even giving him a second glance. Malcolm really loved New York sometimes. He listed off his address and sat back. His whole body ached from the beating he just took and he winced as he shifted. 

The drive didn't take too long but Malcolm was anxious to be home. By the time they made it back to his loft, he was fidgeting despite his sore body. He handed the cab driver a hundred with a mumbled “keep the change,”. He wandered into the bathroom, deciding that the first thing on his list should be a shower. 

“Jesus,” he muttered as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he looked as bad as he felt. He was just glad that it was Saturday and that he wouldn't have to teach a class looking like this. Yet. He was sure that the bruising would be more colorful by the time Monday rolled around. The shower was quick and soon enough he was sporting a pair of sweatpants as he went to let Sunshine out of her cage. 

Someone buzzed his doorbell and he tensed. Dani’s crackly voice came over the intercom,  _ “Bright, it’s me.”  _ he sighed, pressing the buzzer to let her in. 

“Come on up,” he said, moving to his dresser to grab a shirt. He turned when he heard Dani coming up the steps. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dani said, eyes widening as she caught sight of the professor. He pulled on his shirt, concealing the damage beneath. 

“Good morning to you too,” he said. She shook her head in disbelief. 

“What the hell happened to you?” she demanded. 

“Not important,” he quickly deflected, crossing his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you, Dani?” She contemplated arguing for a moment, but she didn't want to run the risk of being kicked out. 

“It's our newest case,” she said. He tilted his head. 

“Do you need a profile?” he asked. 

“I think we do,” she said, “JT disagrees, but we didn't want to bring it to the lieutenant yet, so… here I am.” he nodded. 

“Well,” he said, gingerly lowering himself onto the couch. “Tell me about this case.” 

“A whole family was poisoned,” she said, pulling the casefiles out of her bag. “We’ve ruled out anyone who was killed being the culprit, but there was one member of the family that wasn't there when the killing happened. We tracked him down, he ran from us, and now we have a warrant out for his arrest.” 

“That seems pretty open and shut,” Malcolm hedged. Dani closed her eyes. 

“It just- it doesn't feel right, okay?” she said, frustrated. Malcolm looked through the files for a moment longer before turning back to Dani. 

“Alright,” he said. 

“Alright?” she echoed. He nodded. 

“I agree; Liam doesn't look good for this,” he said, brow furrowing. “For one, the killer inserted snakes into Aristo's abdomen, yes? And that same breed of snake was found at a warehouse Liam used to store exotic animals? If Liam had any common sense, he would have used something that couldn't have been linked to him so easily. That indicates that whoever killed his family wanted it to be pinned on him,” 

“Another thing is that he doesn't fit the profile. The suspect is a classic family annihilator. They kill their family or people who represent their family because that’s how they show their devotion. The thing is, Liam doesn't seem to care about his family enough to kill them. He abandoned the family business, right? He hadn't talked to them in years, which shows that he wanted out.” Malcolm tossed the file onto the table in front of him. “The person who did this desperately wanted in. Maybe an unacknowledged child of some sort. There would also have to be a trigger of some kind, something that set him off. This wasn't random timing; some sort of stressor brought this on. If I had to guess, I’d say rejection from the father he desperately wanted.” 

“So, what is your official stance on the matter?” she asked eagerly. Malcolm sighed, turning to face her. 

“From what I can gather, Liam doesn't fit the profile.” he stood, limping toward the kitchen. “However, you should still try to find him. If this killer really is framing him he’ll want to tie up loose ends as quickly as possible.” Dani’s phone rang and she answered. The person on the other end of the line said something and her face fell. 

“Crap,” she said. “Sir, wait. I've got a, uh, second opinion on the case… Bright… He says that Liam didn't fit the profile… Just give me a few hours… thank you, Gil.” Malcolm raised his eyebrows. 

“I take it Gil wants this case wrapped up?” he asked, sipping his water. She nodded. 

“I've bought us some time, but not much.” Malcolm’s lips quirked into a smile. 

“Us? I thought I wasn't on this case,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. She gave him a look. 

“Do you want to help me find the killer or not,” Dani said. Malcolm’s little smile evolved into a full-blown grin. 

“I'll be ready in ten.” 

~~~ 

Malcolm was practically vibrating in his seat with excitement. 

“Multiple payments of $30,000. Enough to pay your sum quickly but low enough to keep the IRS off your back. Smart.” 

“Yeah, he’s a real Macgyver,” Dani muttered, pulling into Mr. Littman’s driveway. The family was in the backyard, presumably enjoying their Saturday afternoon. The children were playing, one of them nearly bowling Malcolm over in an attempt to escape her sibling. Malcolm winced as she ran into his legs.

“Hey, don't be rude,” Mr. Littman yelled to his daughter, who mostly ignored him. He sighed, turning back to the food he was cooking. “Can we do this another time, detectives?” 

“We just have a few questions,” Dani said. 

“You said that Aristos was a family man, but c’mon, his family hated him,” Malcolm said with an unnervingly intense smile. Mr. Littman ignored the calculating look Malcolm was giving him. 

“Hey, don't- just don't say that,” he snapped. At seeing Malcolm’s perceptive gaze snap to him, he paused. “The man’s dead,” he tacked on.

“Daddy, can I go swing now?” his daughter, the one who had almost bowled Malcolm over, asked. 

“Did you get enough to eat?” he asked. At her nod, he said, “Okay.” Malcolm caught sight of the inconsistencies in her skin tone. She ran away and he watched her go, eyes wide. 

“She has vitiligo,” Malcolm said, turning stiffly. 

“Yeah, she’s self-conscious but the doctor says it’s harmless.” he locked eyes with Bright, “Aristos had it too,” he said, confirming Malcolm’s suspicions. He looked away, taking a drink of his soda. Dani’s hand edged toward her firearm. 

“Which makes sense,” Malcolm said, “Because you're his son. Did Aristos know? Is that why he hired you?” 

“No,” Littman said with a sigh. “I sought him out, worked for him for years. He had no idea. Finally, I got up the nerve to tell him… I thought he’d welcome me with open arms. Instead, he wrote me a check for 60 grand, told me to get out of his life,” he muttered bitterly. 

“Why don't you come down to the station?” Dani said, “Your family doesn't have to find out like this.” 

“They're never gonna find out,” he said. Dani spun around. 

“Bright,” she said, staring at Littman’s unmoving family members. Malcolm froze for a split second. 

“The food,” he whispered. “You poisoned them when we showed up. You knew we were onto you.” 

Littman smiled cryptically before collapsing. 

“Gil, Littman poisoned himself and his family- Bright, how long have we got?” Dani asked. 

“They're already unconscious. Ten minutes before they're dead, five for the girl,” Malcolm responded. 

“We need an ambulance at 3131 Sycamore Lane,” Dani said urgently and hung up. She turned to Bright, who looked to be panicking. He didn't say anything and she prompted, “What do we do?” 

“L-Littman poisoned the Boutsikaris family with a high dose of metoprolol. It stopped their hearts.”

“He probably used the same thing on them, w-what do they need?” 

“Uh,” Malcolm rubbed his forehead, thinking,  _ thinking,  _ “They need a jumpstart, a real  _ kick _ !” he shouted, shaking his head, “Uh, atropine!” 

“I have a medkit in the car!” she shouted and sprinted to the gate. Malcolm checked the girl’s pulse again, but it was gone. He began chest compressions, ignoring his aching muscles. Before he knew it Dani was back with the kit. She set it down beside him and he pulled out the drug they needed. He noted that its container looked like an Epipen. 

“Jam it into the leg,” he instructed, grabbing the other doses. “Soft tissue.” he ran to the other family members, doing the same to them. He looked back at Dani. 

“How long ‘til it works?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“I don't know. It depends on the dose.” Dani looked down as the girl took a deep breath, wheezing slightly. 

“There you go! It’s okay,” she soothed, pulling her up into a hug. 

“Mommy?” he heard from the kid beside him as his mother picked him up. He sighed in relief; they were okay for now. He looked up at where Littman was on the ground, gasping. He grabbed another dose, approaching him. 

“D-Don't, don't…” he moaned, shaking. Malcolm squatted down next to him despite the pain in his ribs. “Don't do it. I don't want to live.” Malcolm stared down at him, contemplating. 

“I know,” he said, jamming the needle into his leg. Littman gasped again, glaring at him. “But you will.” 

There was the sound of sirens and suddenly paramedics were everywhere. He and Dani moved to the edge of the scene, letting them do their jobs. 

“Thank you,” Dani said suddenly. Malcolm turned to look at her. She tangled a hand into her curls. 

“What for?” he asked. She shook her head with a small chuckle. 

“For hearing me out about the case, backing me up,” she said before pausing. “You didn't have to come.” He shrugged. 

“I'm happy to help,” he grinned, “It’s exhilarating, really.” 

“Yeah, you could say that,” she snorted. 

“What happened to you?” Malcolm heard and looked up to see Gil approaching them. He took a breath, bracing himself to deal with the onslaught of questions. He made a note to himself;  _ next time you get beat up, avoid… everyone.  _


	7. Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm figured it would come to something like this; he had always thought that it would be him who suffered the consequences.

It had been months since Emma had first seen Professor Bright’s stalker, months since he had threatened her. She had begun to let her guard down. She almost didn't notice when he took a seat a few rows away from here toward the end of the lecture. Oh, but she  _ did _ notice. She would recognize that bastard anywhere. 

After a few minutes of watching the lecture, he seemed to feel her gaze burning holes into his back. He shifted and turned to look directly at her. She startled but didn't look away, staring him down. They made eye contact and a chill went up her spine as he smiled. 

He stood and walked out of the lecture hall. She watched him go, contemplating. Her phone was dead. She could wait until the lecture was over, but he would be gone by then. It would be the safer option. Well… she never made wise decisions before, why start now? 

She hurried after him, watched as his large form ducked out of one of the side doors. She booked it down the hallway, reaching the door as it slammed closed. She pulled it open without hesitation, cold wind rustling her hair as she stepped outside. She took a few steps, combat boots crunching on the broken glass beneath her feet. She frowned, looking down at the glass. Her head snapped up at heavy footsteps from behind her.

Something slammed into the back of her head and she hit the ground hard. She gasped as her hands met the broken glass coating the ground. Her ankles were grabbed and she was dragged backward. She flipped over just in time to see who was attacking her. She wasn't surprised to see that it was the man she had seen in the lecture hall. She kicked out, but he had a firm grip on her ankle. 

“You know, I normally try to avoid touching the sinners if necessary,” he growled as he pinned her. “But I'll make an exception.” 

“Fuck off,” she hissed and he punched her once, a second time, and a third time for good measure. The back of her head hit the ground and she saw stars. 

“Only because you have been such a pain in my ass,” he continued. She bucked, unbalancing him slightly. She lashed out, catching him just above the eye. Her ring tore into his skin leaving a cut just above his eyebrow. She quickly followed it with an elbow to the jaw. He caught her hand as she tried to strike him again, wrestling to pin it back to the concrete. “Stronger than I expected,” he said as he finally managed to pin both of her wrists, “But I have the lord’s strength on my side.” 

She opened her mouth to reply but his hands were suddenly around her throat. She gasped as he applied pressure, cutting off her airway. His weight compressed her ribs, crushing whatever breath she had left out of her body. She clawed at his wrists before targeting his eyes. He moved out of her reach and she kicked. Her vision was starting to go black and her struggles weakened. 

“You're a fighter. I'm going to enjoy crushing you,” he said. He changed his position to loom over her more and she brought her knee up as hard as she could. As soon as she connected the grip on her neck slacked and he howled. She shoved him, coughing and gasping for breath. 

She stumbled to her feet, leaning on the wall behind her. Her attacker was on his knees, panting and holding his probably bruised parts. She stumbled toward the door, pulling desperately on the handle. It hadn't closed properly when she opened it the first time and it flew open. She stumbled inside and slammed the door behind her. She could hear him on the other side, banging on the now locked door. She stared at the door, frozen. 

“Holy shit,” she wheezed. His shouting from the other side of the door stopped and she forced herself to move. She limped down the hall until she made it to Professor Bright’s room. 

“Bright,” Malcolm heard behind him accompanied by his door hitting the wall. He turned to see Emma standing there looking like she was about to fall over. 

“Wha- Emma?” he said in shock. She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, shaking. He stared for a second before moving carefully to where she sat. The closer he got the more injuries he could see. “What happened?” 

“Stalker,” she rasped, eyes wanting to slip closed. 

“He did this to you?” Malcolm asked. She nodded. 

“More,” she slurred. Damn, she definitely had a concussion. 

“More?” Malcolm questioned as he pulled out his phone. 

“More victims,” she managed before her eyes shut and everything went dark. 

~~~ 

Malcolm was surprised that he was able to keep his balance for so long. Not physically, of course, but in the metaphorical sense. He had continued with his chaotic routine; teaching his classes, helping on cases, never sleeping, going to his father when it was necessary, having family dinner, receiving creepy threats and photos, building his relationships with everyone on the team, all of the things he had to do. It was like walking on a tightrope; he knew that he would eventually fall. He just hoped that the consequences wouldn't be worse than the fall itself.

He was wrong. The consequences were so, so much worse. He stared down at Emma’s still form. She looked tiny against the stark white hospital blankets. He knew that she wasn't really that small; normally she towered over him. The vivid bruising on her neck was accentuated by the anemic tint to her already pale skin. The sight of it made him nauseous. He heard the door behind him open and turned to see who was there. 

“Who are you?” the girl standing the doorway asked warily. Malcolm had the same question for her, but answered first anyway. 

“Malcolm Bright,” he said, “And you are?” 

“Oh,” the girl said, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Olivia. Emma’s girlfriend. She, uh, she told me about you.” Malcolm blinked. Emma had mentioned a girlfriend before. 

“Good things, I hope,” he said. The nasty part of his mind hissed,  _ you don't deserve that much.  _

“Yeah,” Olivia said with a laugh that sounded more like a sob. She stared at Emma for a moment before taking a seat in the chair beside her bed. She seemed to hesitate a moment before taking her hand. “Yeah, really great things actually.” 

Malcolm wasn't sure what he expected Emma’s girlfriend to be like, only that seeing them next to each other was a bit of a shock. They were polar opposites. Emma was pale where Olivia was dark. Emma was particularly masculine, all dark clothes and no makeup; Olivia was feminine, wearing pastel colors and artfully done makeup. Emma was tall, Olivia was short. Emma’s hair was cropped, Olivia elected to grow hers out. Malcolm supposed that opposites really do attract. 

“They said there was no permanent damage,” Malcolm said after a moment of quiet. “She should make a full recovery.” 

“Good,” Olivia murmured, taking a shuddering breath. “‘Cause after she does I'm gonna kill her.” Malcolm blinked. He had not been expecting that. 

“Why-” he started, but she cut him off. 

“Because she’s a dumbass, that’s why!” She whisper yelled. “Honestly, what- why would she just… she just ran into a dark alley after someone who had threatened her on  _ multiple  _ occasions. This is worse than when she took up competitive boxing. Seriously, what is wrong with my girlfriend?” 

“I-I mean, I don't know,” Malcolm said, eyes wide. He had been expecting more sadness and less fury. 

“I just-” she paused, all of the anger seemed to drain out of her and she slouched. She brought Emma’s limp hand up and gently kissed her bruised knuckles. “Why did I have to fall in love with someone who would give me a heart attack every other week?” She whispered. 

“I'll find who did this,” Malcolm said resolutely. She gazed up at him, studying his face. 

“I hope you do.” 

Malcolm’s phone rang and both of them jumped. He fished the device out of his pocket and answered. 

“Bright,” he said. 

_ “We got something,”  _ Dani said urgently. Malcolm glanced at Olivia. 

“I'll be there in fifteen.” 

~~~ 

“His plates were expired,” Dani said, “The car they belonged to was left in a junkyard in the Bronx.” 

“It’s a lead,” Malcolm said, pouncing on the idea immediately. “We should follow it up.” 

“Malcolm, we need to talk,” Gil said. Malcolm frowned but nodded. 

Gil closed the door to his office and turned to Malcolm. 

“You know that you can't work this case, Bright,” he said. Malcolm gaped. 

“What?” he demanded. Gil had developed a soft spot for the kid over the past few months and the devastated look on his face broke his heart. Regardless of how he felt, a devastated Malcolm was better than a dead one. 

“This case is about you, Malcolm,” Gil said. “You're too close. It's a conflict of interest.” 

“Gil, you don't understand,” Malcolm started quietly. “You weren't there. You didn't see what he  _ did _ to her.” 

“I get that,” Gil said, “But I can't let you work this case.” 

“Look, I either work it here or by myself,” Malcolm told him honestly. Gil studied his face. He remembered all of the times Malcolm had been injured trying to investigate things by himself. He sighed heavily. 

“If I'm going to let you do this-  _ if _ ,” he added at Malcolm’s excited expression, “There needs to be a few ground rules.” 

“Of course,” Malcolm said enthusiastically. Gil narrowed his eyes. 

“You don't go anywhere alone. I mean that- I don't even want you going to the restroom by yourself.” 

“Yes, got it.” 

“If you do happen to find yourself alone, which you shouldn't, you have to  _ call for backup _ . You tell me if anything happens.  _ Anything _ . You got that?” At Malcolm’s nod, he led him out of the office and back to the conference room. 

“So,” Malcolm said, “Let’s go check out that junkyard. Maybe whoever works there has seen out stalker.” 

Watching Dani and Malcolm go, Gil figured that he was going to regret letting Malcolm stay on the case. 


	8. Junkyards and Psych Wards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The media names him the Junkyard Killer. Martin finds the moniker... unsavory.

“They’re probably closed, you know that, right?” Dani hissed as Malcolm pushed the gate to the junkyard open. 

“Well, It’s not locked,” Malcolm replied with a shrug. “So… fair game?” Dani sighed as Malcolm strolled right in. She, of course, followed. They walked around for a while, searching for someone. It seemed to be set up like a maze with the main office in the center. Dani was beginning to get a bad feeling about this whole thing. It felt like they were being watched. She squinted into the darkness surrounding them which was only diminished by the moon and distant streetlights.

“Bright, I don't have a good feeling about this,” Dani said, glancing around. 

“What do you mean?” Malcolm asked distractedly as he spotted the small building they had been looking for. 

“It feels like we’re being watched,” Dani whispered, hand edging toward her gun as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Let’s-” 

A gunshot pinged off of the car next to Dani’s head, ricocheting off the metal as she ducked. There were more gunshots and both of them ran for cover. They ended up on opposite sides of the open space in which the shooter stood. Both of them drew their weapons and Malcolm peaked out from behind the car. The man looked awfully familiar and Malcolm’s hand shook. It was him. He was sure of it. 

Dani was shouting into her radio that they needed backup and Malcolm stood, returning his fire. The man ducked behind a different car, still shooting at Malcolm. He turned and ran, disappearing among the abundant shadows that haunted the junkyard. Malcolm poised to chase him and suddenly Dani was grabbing his arm. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded, shaking him slightly. 

“We have to go after him,” Malcolm snarled.

“No, we have to wait for backup,” Dani corrected. Malcolm looked at her disbelievingly. 

“He’s getting away!” he shouted, gesturing wildly with his unoccupied arm. Dani stared at him like he had grown a second head. 

“Bright, listen to yourself. Calm down.” Dani said firmly. Malcolm felt the rage that had been building up threaten to spill over. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and forcing the debilitating fury away. He knew that he was letting his emotions cloud his judgment. “Better?” Dani asked once Malcolm had sufficiently calmed himself. 

“Yeah,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry. I guess I kinda… lost my head.” 

“You think?” Dani scoffed. She supposed that Malcolm really did look apologetic, so she refrained from scolding him further. The sirens she could hear in the distance were getting closer. “We should meet them at the gate,” she suggested. Malcolm nodded, letting her lead. 

They got a warrant to search the property. It was simple after the apparent owner of the junkyard shot at an officer and a consultant on the property. 

“Paul Lazar,” Gil said, squinting against the morning sun. “He owns the place.” 

“It has to be an alias,” Malcolm said immediately. “The letters are always signed ‘J.W.’.” 

“Maybe the ‘J.W.’ isn't his initials,” JT suggested. “Maybe they're just an attempt to throw you off his trail.” 

“No, no, no, the letters… the letters are his way of trying to connect with me. Using his real initials allows him to feel like I know who he is without exposing himself.” He shook his head. “He likes the power imbalance. I only know what he wants me to know but he knows  _ everything  _ about me. He doesn't need to misdirect because he’s in control of the relationship.” 

“Okay, so let’s say that Paul Lazar  _ is  _ an alias. It’s still more than we had before; I'll check it out, see if there’s any more properties or listings in his name,” Dani said, pulling out her phone as she walked away. 

“Lieutenant,” Malcolm turned to see one of the crime scene techs. There was a serious frown on his face. “We’ve found bodies.” 

“A body?” Gil asked. The tech shook his head gravely. 

“Bodies. That is, more than one. And we think there’s more.”

~~~ 

“Nineteen,” Emma whispered, shaking her head. She swallowed and winced. “How did they…” 

“Are you sure you want to know that?” Malcolm asked carefully. She glanced at the door. Her girlfriend had left to get coffee. She didn't want her to hear this. 

“Yes.” 

“Crush injuries.”  _ You're a fighter. I'm going to enjoy crushing you-  _ she closed her eyes, fighting back the tears she felt welling up. That could have been her. That could have been  _ Olivia,  _ even. 

“He- he said that he doesn't usually touch  _ sinners _ ,” she whispered. “It makes sense that he would…” she trailed off, bringing her hand up to cover her aching eyes. “Is there anything else I should know?” Malcolm thought about the victim’s broken, emaciated bodies. Their chipped nails from when they desperately fought to escape despite how enervated they must have been. He thought about the gashes left from being restrained pre-mortem. The bruises that had occurred days before they were killed. How they saw what the compactor was going to do to them before it happened. How much pain they must have been in.

“No,” said, flashing a tight smile. “That’s all.” She nodded as the door opened and Olivia stepped in. 

“I brought you some more water,” she said, setting the cup down on the table next to the bed. She cast a concerned look at Emma’s red-rimmed eyes, but Emma just smiled. 

“Thanks, Olive,” she murmured. Malcolm stood. 

“I'll update you if anything new happens,” he said. “I'm glad you're okay, Emma.” 

“Of course I am,” she said with a grin, “What else did you expect?” He didn't want to answer that question. 

~~~ 

“My boy,” Martin said, smiling pleasantly. “What brings you here today?” 

“What do you know about him?” Malcolm asked, immediately cutting to the chase. Martin raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance. 

“About who, exactly?” he chuckled, “You can't expect me to read your mind.” 

“I know you've been watching the news. The Junkyard Killer, I know you know him.” 

“The Junkyard Killer,” Martin scoffed, shaking his head. “I've gotta say, it’s not exactly a flattering name. I'll admit, The Surgeon was a bit on the nose, but that’s just tacky.” 

“Stop evading the question,” Malcolm growled. Martin tilted his head. 

“You are awfully worked up about this, my boy,” he commented. Malcolm took a breath. 

“Tell me how you know him.” 

“Tell me why you care so much.” 

“It’s a case,” Malcolm said. Martin shook his head, smile creeping onto his lips. 

“No, it’s more than that.” Malcolm considered. He knew that his father knew something. 

“Fine,” he relented. “One of my students was next on his hit list. She’s in the hospital.” 

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Martin sympathized. 

“Tell me about J.W.” Martin looked taken aback. 

“How do you…” 

“It’s how he signs all of his letters. They're his initials, aren't they?” 

“ _ Letters? _ ” Martin asked, eyes wide. 

“Yes. He’s been sending them to me for months,” Malcolm said. Martin was clenching and unclenching his shackled fists. 

“Why didn't you tell me about this?” 

“Why should I?” They stared each other down for a long moment. 

“Why do you assume he knows me?” Martin eventually broke the tense silence. 

“It’s the way he talks about you. He said that I…” Malcolm pulled out his phone, opening the photo of one of his handwritten letters. “Sound like you, I look like you, and that I even smell like you.” 

“Did he now?” Martin said through clenched teeth. 

“Yes. He’s been stalking me for months. My guess is that I remind him of you. So here’s my question; if I'm right, should I be afraid?” Martin stared at him for a long moment. 

“John Watkins,” he finally said. Malcolm nodded. That was answer enough for him. 

“Thank you, Dr. Whitly,” he said, turning to leave. 

“Malcolm,” Martin said. “You should be careful. John Watkins is a very,  _ very  _ dangerous man.” Malcolm nodded and left, waving to Mr. David on his way out. 

~~~ 

_ “Gil, I just talked to my father,” _ Malcolm said quickly as soon as Gil picked up. The older man rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“I'm guessing he didn't give you anything?” he muttered. 

_ “John Watkins. That’s his name, Gil, John Watkins,”  _ Gil sat bolt upright in his chair, clutching his phone. 

“What?” he asked, writing the name down. “He just… told you?” 

_ “He was scared. He told me to be careful.”  _

“Where are you?” Gil asked, grabbing his coat. He could hear the occasional car driving by in the background. Malcolm listed off the street names. It wasn't too far from Claremont. “I'm coming to get you.” 

_ “I'm-” _ whatever Malcolm had been saying was cut off abruptly. There was a loud crack as his phone hit the ground. Gil froze. 

“Malcolm?” he said. No response. “Malcolm!” he shouted, garnering a few strange glances from the officers around him. 

Malcolm blinked slowly, wincing. He could hear Gil shouting from his cell, which was a few feet away. He reached toward it when it was suddenly kicked away from him. 

“Now, now,” a deep voice rumbled from above him. Malcolm glanced up at the shadowy figure. He was silhouetted by the streetlight behind him and Malcolm couldn't see his face. He stepped on Malcolm’s cell phone and Gil’s voice cut off with a crunch. 

“Watkins,” he managed, jaw protesting the movement. 

“So, he told you my real name. Interesting,” he said. Malcolm tried to move and Watkins placed the toe of his boot on his shoulder, effectively pinning him. “I've been waiting a long time for this, Malcolm.” 

“I'm sure,” Malcolm grunted. Watkins chuckled quietly. Suddenly he lashed out, punching him in the jaw a second time. Malcolm’s head hit the pavement and his vision went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to watch the new ep. :)


	9. Captives and Crusades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is gone and Gil has no leads. Malcolm, for his part, is not having a great time either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for slur (one, singular).

“Malcolm?” Gil could hear the kid groan on the other side of the line, followed by a deep male voice saying something he couldn't make out. “Malcolm!” There was a crack and the call cut off. Gil stared blankly at the screen for a moment. He couldn't force himself to move for several moments. 

“Gil?” he heard Dani ask. He looked up at her concerned face. “Was that Malcolm? What did he say? What happened?” 

“He’s gone.” 

~~~ 

The first thing that Malcolm registered when he woke was the throbbing sensation in his jaw. He groaned quietly, bringing his hand up to touch the tender spot. The sound of chains brought him up short- his bed didn't sound like this. Everything came rushing back and he let his hand fall back to the floor. 

“Hello, Malcolm,” he heard from behind him. He looked to where Watkins was standing, leaning his weight against the wall. “I was beginning to get worried; you never sleep that long.” 

“Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly asleep, was I?” he muttered, covering his aching eyes. 

“Unconscious, asleep, tomato, potato, all the same, really,” Watkins replied. Malcolm grunted in response. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” 

“Why am I here?” Malcolm sat up, looking at his captor warily. 

“Oh, Malcolm,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We have work to do.” 

“Well, that’s nice and specific,” Malcolm snarked, shaking his head. 

“God’s work,” he clarified. Malcolm frowned. 

“Are you going to starve me? I know that you won't be able to crush me quite like you did the others, at least, not at your old stomping ground,” Malcolm said. Watkins tilted his head. 

“Of course not, Malcolm.” he knelt next to the younger man (just barely out of Malcolm's reach). “You're not like the others.” 

“How so?” Malcolm asked. Watkins laughed. 

“You can be redeemed,” he said, a manic grin on his face. “All the others- they were sinners, _filthy_. You-” he subconsciously began to reach a hand toward Malcolm, but he reconsidered at the glare he received. “You have your father's blood. Martin may be gone, but you're here. Now. Your father and I made a good team. We can make a great one.” 

“Team?” Malcolm replied incredulously. “You want me to kill? You want me to become like _him_?” 

“You already are-” 

“No,” Malcolm snapped. “I'm not like him, and I never will be.” 

“You will,” Watkins said. It sounded more like a promise. Malcolm just shook his head. He stood, dusting the dirt off of his jeans. “You just have to endure your trials first.” 

“Trials?” Malcolm asked. He didn't like the sound of that. Watkins just hummed distractedly. “What kind of trials?” 

“Well, I can't tell you that,” Watkins said, clicking his tongue. “But you know what? Once you've passed and realized your true potential, I'll make sure that the first sinner we cleanse will be special.” 

“Special,” Malcolm parroted. Watkins nodded. 

“That dyke that you got so riled up over,” he said, an ugly snarl on his face as he thought about her. Malcolm blanched. 

“No,” he whispered. “Don't you touch her. Don't you dare.” 

“Don't worry, Malcolm, we’ll save that for when you're ready,” he continued before Malcolm could protest, “In the meantime, I'm afraid that I have some… business to attend.” 

“What business?” Malcolm growled. Watkins just walked out the door in lieu of answering. Malcolm watched him go, rage welling up in him. Once he got out of here, he would make the bastard pay. 

~~~ 

Gil paced the length of his office. Nothing. They had absolutely nothing. Malcolm had already been gone for five hours and they had no leads. He went to the place Malcolm had been taken from. All he found was what remained of his smashed cell phone. 

A few hours after the abduction, Gil decided that he had to tell Jessica what happened to her son. He could confidently say that she had officially, what was the phrase that JT loved so much? Oh yes, she had officially lost her shit. The call ended with what he presumed was her smashing her phone. Considering he had called her on a landline, it took a few hits to actually break it. 

“There are no other listings in Paul Lazar’s name other than a storage unit that is about to expire,” Dani said solemnly. Gil nodded. “The background check on John Watkins isn't quite finished, but I did see that he has a grandmother who is still alive.” 

“Go with JT, see if she knows anything,” Gil said, picking up the phone on his desk. “I'll send some unis to check out the storage unit.” 

“You got it,” Dani said. At the click of his door shutting Gil sighed. 

~~~ 

“Did you ever notice how in the bible, whenever God needed to punish someone… make an example,” Malcolm jolted from his fitful sleep at the sound of Watkins’ voice. “Or whenever God needed a killing, he sent an angel? Do you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like? Your whole existence spent praising your God, always one wing dipped in blood. I mean, would you ever really want to see an angel?” Malcolm cleared his dry throat. 

“Honestly?” he said, “No.” Watkins hummed lightly. 

“I relate to those warriors of heaven, Malcolm,” he said after a moment. “They do things that are perceived as brutal in the name of God. I'm willing to do the same. Soon, you will be too.” 

“Religion was never my father’s motive,” Malcolm pointed out, because clearly Watkins wanted to replace his father with him. Watkins shrugged. 

“That's why he must serve his time.” He walked closer to where Malcolm was chained. Malcolm tensed at the proximity. “Malcolm, I want you to know that everything I do from here on out is for your own good.” Oh, Malcolm _hated_ the sound of that. 

“What are you going to do?” Watkins watched him cooly for a moment. He strode even closer and kicked Malcolm in the stomach. 

All of his breath left him in one fell swoop. He gasped and Watkins kicked him again, and again, and again, and again. Malcolm tried to grab his ankle with his chained hands, which only resulted in the heavy boot landing on his fingers. He whimpered as he applied pressure, grinding the heel into the digits. He released his hand and Malcolm snatched it close to his chest. He was so focussed on his hands that he didn't see the boot to the face coming. He fell back, head smacking on the concrete. There was blood running from his nose, but he didn't try to wipe it away. A fist to the face followed and Malcolm hissed in pain.

The boot connected with his side again and he rolled onto his front in an attempt to protect his abdomen. The beating paused for a moment and Malcolm tried to pull himself back to his knees. Suddenly there was a hand twisting in his hair, yanking his head back. A small noise escaped from somewhere in his throat. 

“Physical pain is a form of purification in its own right,” he growled, twisting his fingers and pulling the strands tighter. Malcolm could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. 

“It’s-” he began when he was thrown back to the floor. He grunted, sore hands flying forward to break his fall. He panted, turning himself onto his back. He stared up at Watkins, who was holding a hunting knife in his hand. Malcolm looked at the blade, then back at the man who was wielding it. 

Malcolm wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Watkins staring down at him before abruptly shoving the knife into his side was not it. He stared at the handle, which was the only visible part of the knife, protruding from his side. He fell backward, the hard landing jarring the knife. Watkins knelt next to him and mercilessly tore the blade out. He let out an agonized, choked scream at the fire the blade left in its wake. He panted, shaking his head as Watkins inspected the blade dispassionately. He looked relatively indifferent now, but Malcolm had seen the look in his eye when he pulled that blade out. He _enjoyed_ it. This wasn't just a mission for him; Malcolm wondered if Watkins himself knew that. 

“You'll live.” Malcolm didn't watch him go, too focused on the fact that he was _bleeding out_. He felt his eyelids getting heavier, more akin to lead than flesh. He put his hand over the wound, resisting the urge to pull it away at the sticky warmth he felt there. He never really liked blood. He wouldn't have made a good surgeon, he thought absently. His hands were too shaky. 

_They haven't always been,_ his brain reminded him as everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snatched that bit about angels that John was talking about toward the end from a Longlost song called Abaddon. I'm not sure where they got it, but it reminded me of Watkins, so here we are.


	10. Rescue and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil has a chat with Martin. Malcolm has a chat with, well, himself.

“He’s gonna turn him, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” the old lady cackled. Gil frowned. Matilda Watkins was clearly not the sanest person out there, but she didn't say kill.  _ Turn? _

“What do you mean? Where is Mr. Bright?” Gil asked. She cackled some more and he considered telling them that the interrogation was over when she spoke again. 

“He’s with my sweet Johnny,” she said, flashing a toothless grin. “And he’s going to turn him into a servant of the Lord. Just like I did for him.” Gil paled. 

“Servant of the Lord?” he echoed. She nodded. 

“Someone has to punish those filthy sinners,” she spat. 

“Where are they?” Gil questioned, leaning across the table. She laughed some more. 

“It’s too late,” she said lowly. “It’s too late. It’s too late! It’s too late!” she shrieked, slapping her open palms on the table. Gil stood, chair scraping across the floor. 

“Get her out of here,” he growled, watching as she was dragged, still screaming, from the room. He ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted. 

“We’ll find him, man,” JT said comfortingly. He patted him on the shoulder. Gil nodded.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I just worry about what will be left of him by the time we do.” 

~~~ 

Malcolm tried to ignore the pair of dress shoes he could see out of the corner of his eye. They weren't real; he knew that. He didn't want to see whoever he thought was standing there. They crouched next to him. 

“Geez, you look worse than me,” the hallucination said. His eyes snapped up to stare at Emma. She looked about as good as the last time he had seen her. The collar of her button-up shirt was wide open and he could clearly see the strangulation marks on her neck. 

“Wha- why?” he rasped. She was not the one he had been expecting to see. She sat back, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth and pointing it at him. 

“I'm a manifestation of your guilt,” she said, tilting her head. “But you could have figured that out.” 

“So, you're here to torment me,” he muttered, letting his head rest on the floor. She frowned. 

“Of course not,” she said, looking mildly offended. “I'm here to… encourage you.” 

“Encourage me?” Malcolm echoed. She grinned, adjusting her suspender straps. 

“Yep!” she said, “You have to survive. If you die, who knows what Watkins will do to me.” 

“Shit,” he hissed. She was right. If fighting for himself wasn't already encouraging enough, he now realized that her life may be riding on his survival as well. 

“Indeed,” she agreed. “But look on the  _ bright _ side,” she added with a chuckle. “It’s just more motivation. I'm sure that you already know this, but the first thing you need to do is stop the bleeding.” Malcolm scoffed quietly. 

“Alright,” he muttered. When he looked back up she was gone. He couldn't help but feel lonelier, even though he knew that she wasn't real. He sat up gingerly, mouth opening in a silent scream as the movement jarred his injuries. He panted, reaching up to tear off the bottom part of his shirt. He pressed the fabric against the hole in his side, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain. He paused, breathing through it.  _ Breathe, just breathe. _ His eyelids began to flutter and he let them close. Breathe, huh? He could do that. 

~~~ 

“Why hello, Detective Arroyo,” Martin said with a smirk. “Oh, I mean  _ Lieutenant _ Arroyo.’ 

“Dr. Whitly,” Gil greeted shortly. 

“You're not on my visitor's list,” Martin stated. 

“I am not,” Gil agreed, “I need to ask you a few questions.” 

“Oh, ask away!” Martin responded with mock enthusiasm. “I love to help the police.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

“John Watkins-” 

“Oh, Malcolm told you about that, did he?” Martin interrupted. “Speaking of, where is he? He left so abruptly after his last visit, and I haven't heard from him since.” 

“That’s not important,” Gil said sharply. 

“Oh, I think it is,” Martin replied, clenching his fists. “I think it is very important that you tell me where my son is  _ right now _ .” Gil considered. Martin didn't look ready to answer any questions until Gil told him where Malcolm was. Gil wished he knew. 

“We… we don't know,” he admitted. “He was abducted, we think by Watkins.” Martin looked frozen, that pleasant expression etched onto his face. His breathing picked up and Gil could see the fury behind his eyes. 

“You're telling me,” he said, voice strained, “That John Watkins has abducted my son?” Gil carefully nodded. “Right,” Martin said before walking to his desk and proceeding to shove everything on it to the floor. Gil took a surprised step back, watching as Martin absolutely destroyed his side of the cell. Guards came rushing in, trying to restrain him. 

“I'LL KILL HIM!” Martin screamed as he thrashed in the guard’s hold, “I'LL KILL THE SON OF A BITCH!” Suddenly a doctor was there, shoving a needle into his leg. Martin went limp after a few moments of his struggles gradually weakening. They set him down on his cot, which they had since righted. He leaned limply against the wall, blinking slowly. 

“We’re going to need you to leave-” the doctor began telling him. 

“Wait, I need to ask him a few questions,” Gil said, “This case is extremely time-sensitive. Please.” The doctor sighed, shaking her head slightly. 

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “But you will have to leave soon.” 

“Of course,” Gil quickly accepted, “I won't be long.” She nodded and left. He turned back to Martin, who was clearly high as a kite. He figured that he could cross the red line when the doctor was so out of it. He knelt in front of him, snapping his fingers to get his attention. 

“Martin,” he said sharply. The other man glanced lazily at him. “I need to know where Watkins would take Malcolm.” 

“Why?” Martin muttered, shaking his head, “You're not gonna like what's left of him.” 

“He’ll live. Malcolm is resourceful,” Gil insisted. Martin snorted. 

“Oh, I don't doubt that he will be alive,” he said, blank eyes staring through Gil, “He will just wish that he wasn't.” A shiver went up Gil’s spine. He shook it off. He had to believe that the kid was alright. He  _ had  _ to. 

“Where are they?” Martin looked at him like he was an especially slow child. 

“How would I-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. “Oh no,” he muttered, “Under the house. He’s going to kill them all.” 

~~~ 

Jessica screamed as her front door burst open. Uniformed SWAT members with guns stormed in and she grabbed Ainsley, pulling her daughter closer to her. 

“What is going on here?” she demanded. The SWAT members continued to search the house, mostly ignoring her. 

“We believe that Watkins is here,” he said, leading them outside. “Martin told us about a room that leads to the old access tunnels in your basement.” 

“That’s impossible,” Jessica said with a scoff. “If there was something like that in my house I would know about it.” 

_ “Gil, we found the room. Breaching now,”  _ Dani’s voice came over his radio. 

“Copy,” Gil responded, rushing to the house. He thought that he heard Jessica and Ainsley following behind, but didn't tell them to go back. Dani met him at the entrance to the basement. He knew from the look on her face that it was going to be bad news. 

“They're not here,” she said grimly. Gil thought he might be sick from the frustration bubbling in his gut. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, shaking his head. He wasn't here. He  _ wasn't here. _

“Where are you going?” JT called after him as he stormed away. 

“Claremont.” 

~~~ 

“You know what’s going to happen, right,” Malcolm heard and flinched. He glanced up at where his father stood. 

“Obviously you're going to tell me,” he muttered, pressing his torn shirt harder to his wound. 

“He’s going to escalate once he realizes that you won't kill,” he hissed, suddenly right behind him. His skin tingled from the phantom breath he would have felt there. That is, if his father were real. Which he wasn't. “He’s going to kill you, or worse: he won't.” 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Malcolm growled, sick of his brain’s antics. He  _ knew  _ that it was going to get worse the more he resisted. He didn't need the reminder. 

“Well, first things first, we’ve got to escape these cuffs,” he said, flashing a wicked grin. Malcolm pulled his aching body up, forcing himself to his knees. He looked around for something, anything he could use to pick the lock. His hallucination responded even though he hadn't said anything out loud. “You do realize that picking the lock will be extremely difficult and time-consuming, even if you can find something that will work, right? On top of that, we don't even know how long he will be gone.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, “You got a better idea?” 

“As a matter of fact…” he followed his father’s gaze and blanched. 

“No,” he said immediately. His father tsked, shaking his head. 

“Yes,” he retorted. “The diameter of the cuffs is about three inches. The diameter of your hand is about five inches. So all you need to do is make your hand…” 

“Three inches,” Malcolm finished weakly. He glanced back up at the hammer in front of him. “There has to be another way.” 

“Oh, there are plenty of other ways,” his father said, “You could try and break the cuffs, but who knows what kind of damage you could do to your wrist that way. Containing the damage to one area is much more practical. On the other hand, we could try to fight Watkins when he comes back. I know that I don't have to list the disadvantages that would make that a bad idea: The chains, your injuries, the weight difference, the height difference, how little sleep you've had, not to mention that you're severely lacking in-” 

“I get it,” Malcolm snapped. 

“Do you?” Martin growled, suddenly right in front of him. Malcolm flinched back. 

“Yes,” he hissed, crawling forward to grab the hammer that was just barely in reach. He picked it up with his right, swallowing nervously.  _ I can't do this,  _ he laid his left hand out flat on the floor in front of him,  _ I can't do this,  _ he raised the hammer slowly,  _ I can't do this,  _ he took a deep breath. He knew that if he could just focus he could cause minimal damage. Not letting himself think too hard, he brought the hammer down hard. 

The scream that ripped its way out of his throat was guttural, his voice already shredded. He dropped the hammer numbly, picking his now broken hand up and tearing it out of the cuff. Adrenalin flooded his system and he couldn't muster another scream. He wrapped his hand in another strip of fabric from his shirt, grunting as he felt the bones shift. 

There was the rumble of an engine up the stairs and he froze. Oh no, oh no,  _ oh no _ . 

“Get up, boy,” his father growled from behind him. “Are you going to let yourself be slaughtered like an animal?  _ Get. Up. _ ” Malcolm stumbled to his feet, the chain that was still connected to his right wrist dragging on the floor. He tore open the bag of tools, flinching as the front door opened. He grabbed the fire poker, moving to stand behind the door as the booming footsteps came closer to the stairs. He tried to breathe  _ in, out, in, out  _ as the heavily booted feet progressed. Closer, closer,  _ closer  _ until the door was opening. He gripped the metal in his hand tight. Watkins hadn't even turned all the way around before Malcolm slammed the end of the fire poker into the side of his head as hard as he could. 

“You little-” he started and Malcolm hit him again. And again. And again. He stared at where Watkins slumped on the floor, unconscious. He couldn't move, his grip began to loosen on the poker. 

“Don't you dare drop that thing,” JT said abruptly from beside him. Malcolm almost jumped out of his skin. He gaped. 

“JT?” he managed. 

“Yeah, I know I'm not who you were expecting, but we've got to move. He won't stay down long.” 

“R-right,” Malcolm stuttered, turning to the stairs. The first step was agony and the next wasn't any better. 

“C’mon, man,” JT said insistently. Malcolm tried to block out the pain, one step after another. He could have cried when he made it to the top of the stairs. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” 

Malcolm spotted the knife block sitting on the kitchen counter. He stared at it for a split second before making his decision. He grabbed the biggest blade there, testing its balance. Not bad. 

Malcolm felt himself deflate as he stepped out onto the porch. It was all woods. Nothing but trees were in sight save for one long, worn path. His hopes were once again dashed when the car was locked and he could see no keys inside. There was no way in hell that he would be going back in there for them. 

“How good a tracker do you reckon Watkins is?” JT asked. Malcolm shook his head. 

“Does it matter?” he muttered, starting toward the tree line. “It’s not like we have much of a choice.” 

“Whatever you say,” JT retorted. 

“You're not even real,” Malcolm snapped, turning to find the hallucination gone. He tried not to dwell on it. He made it far, but not nearly far enough before he heard it. 

_ "MALCOLM!"  _


	11. Hunters V.S. the Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chase through the woods ensues.

_ “MALCOLM!”  _

He froze, unable to force air into his suddenly tight lungs. There was no way that he had recuperated so fast. A mantra of  _ shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,  _ went through his mind and he stumbled, almost falling over. 

“Bright!” She used the same tone of voice that she had after he had almost let Berkhead inject him. He turned to see her worried face. 

“Dani-” 

“We need to move,” she hissed, walking ahead as he fumbled to catch up. He made sure that he kept the pointy end of the knife facing away from him in case he fell over. Impaling himself would not help his chances of escaping. 

“GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” his voice echoed around Malcolm as he picked up the pace. 

“We need to move away from the trail,” Dani said, glancing to where they could still see the dirt road through the trees. 

“How will we know where we’re going?” Malcolm demanded, shaking his head. 

“It’s too predictable,” she insisted, “I'd rather be lost than have that madman find us.” Malcolm reluctantly nodded, following her with a wary glance back at the trail as it was swallowed up by the imposing trees. 

“YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS, MALCOLM!” he heard, closer than he wished. The larger man definitely had the advantage, and Malcolm couldn't force his body to move any faster. 

“How’s the escape going?” Malcolm heard from behind him and jumped. His father was leaning against one of the many trees surrounding them. The overhead canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, providing the area with a dismal, unwelcoming atmosphere. 

“Fine,” Malcolm muttered. 

“Doesn't look like it,” he commented. “As a matter of fact, I think he’s going to catch up soon.” 

“Why are you here? I liked Dani better,” Malcolm snapped. As a matter of fact, he liked  _ anyone  _ better. 

“Because Dani won't help you kill a man,” his father said. Malcolm froze, grip on the blade tightening. 

“I'm not going to kill him,” he replied stiffly. 

“Why?” his father challenged, “It’s you or him.” 

“I can't,” he protested. His father looked thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Just like you couldn't break your hand to escape the cuffs?” 

~~~ 

“Give me a pen and paper, I'll draw you a map.” 

Gil was reluctant to give him anything sharp, but did as he was bid. Martin angrily scratched a few things down on the paper, handing it and the pen back to Gil with little fuss. Gil looked at the, admittedly, well-done map. 

“Thank you-” Gil started but Dr. Whitly cut him off. 

“Don't thank me,” he snapped, leaning back, “Just find my son.” Gil nodded, practically sprinting back to his car as soon as he was clear of the cell. 

“A cabin,” he said to Dani as he buckled his seatbelt. “In the woods.” 

_ “Send me the coordinates.” _

~~~ 

Malcolm flinched as a twig snapped a few feet from him, grip on the chef’s knife tightening. 

“Just a squirrel,” his father said, picking absently at his nails.  _ At least one part of my mind is calm right now,  _ he mused distantly. Despite the still dire circumstances he could feel the adrenaline draining from his system. His whole body ached, especially his side. He knew that he was pale, and could feel the effects of blood loss weighing on him. Watkins was smart; he didn't hit any vital organs or major arteries, yet he allowed him to lose enough blood to keep him weak. 

“WE’RE NOT DONE, KID!” he heard, heart rate picking up. He was close. So,  _ so  _ close. Only a few yards away, in fact. Malcolm was sure that he would be able to hear his racing heart. 

“We’ll only get one shot, Malcolm,” his father coached, “Make sure it’s a good one.” 

The tree was definitely large enough to hide the smaller man, yet he could have sworn that he could feel Watkins’ gaze boring into him. He could hear his footsteps now, progressing closer, closer,  _ closer.  _ He took a shaky breath, adjusting his grip on the knife. He counted off in his head  _ one, two… three.  _

He saw Watkins’ boot step into his field of vision and immediately swung his arm out, aiming as close to the throat as he could. He felt the knife connect, but not deep enough,  _ not deep enough _ . Watkins caught his arm, wrenching it behind his back. He gripped the knife tighter, twisting in an attempt to dislodge himself. Watkins let out a surprised grunt, staggering back. 

“Come any closer and I'll kill you,” Malcolm rasped as Watkins circled him. 

“I thought you weren't a killer,” he said, tilting his head. There was blood streaming down his neck from where Malcolm had stabbed him earlier. 

“I lied,” he gritted, trying to still his shaking hand. Watkins laughed and he jumped. 

“You won't kill me,” he said certainly. He took a step toward Malcolm, who swung the blade at him, catching his outstretched arm. Watkins hissed, grabbing the wound. He assessed Malcolm for a moment, eyes narrowed. One second he was staring and the next he struck, grabbing Malcolm’s broken hand. Malcolm screamed, vision going white. He blinked rapidly, realizing that the knife had been tossed away from him. Watkins had him by the throat, shaking his head. 

“I would have gone easy on you if you had just surrendered,” he tutted and Malcolm gasped, clawing at his arm. “But you have earned yourself a real punishment now,  _ boy _ .” 

He pulled Malcolm into a chokehold, holding his arms down with his bloody arm. Malcolm yelled as Watkins began to drag him back toward the cabin, digging his heels in as much as he could. Watkins released Malcolm’s throat in favor of covering his mouth. 

“Shut it,” he growled. Malcolm could feel tears streaming down his face as he tried to shake the bruising grip on his mouth. The walk back seemed to take years and seconds all at once. He felt a surge of adrenaline when the cabin came into view, bucking as hard as he could. 

Watkins shoved him to his knees in the middle of the clearing, yanking his broken hand behind him as he grabbed his hair. An agonized scream tore it’s way out of his throat as Watkins squeezed his broken hand. Bones shifted and he gasped a sob. Watkins yanked his head back. 

“I don't like insubordination, Malcolm,” he hissed. “So listen when I say-” 

“NYPD, STEP AWAY FROM HIM AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” Malcolm stared at where his team, accompanied by SWAT agents, emerged from the tree line. Either he was tripping  _ balls _ , or he was really about to be saved. His dazed mind couldn't determine which was more likely. 

“Don't come any closer!” Watkins responded, gripping Malcolm’s hand harder when they didn't listen. Malcolm screamed, halting any movement from his rescuers. He panted and would have let his head fall forward if Watkins hadn't tangled his fingers in his hair. 

“You're surrounded,” Gil reasoned, “You _will_ be shot if you don't comply.” Watkins snarled like a caged animal in response. Suddenly Malcolm felt himself falling as Watkins shoved him away, putting his hands up. He didn't get his hands up in time to break his fall, not that it would have much helped anyway. The impact with the ground jarred his injuries and he let out a pained whine. He was sure he blacked out. 

When he opened his eyes again he was on his back, looking up at Gil. The older man was fussing, whispering soothing words that didn't make much sense to Malcolm. He let his eyes slip closed despite how panicked Gil's voice became when he did. 

~~~ 

Malcolm woke to shouting and hands on him. Too many hands and they were holding him down, and  _ was someone screaming? _ Was it him? He thrashed, trying to escape, when there was a sharp pain in his leg and he went limp. The panic drained out of him, but at the back of his mind he was still wondering what was going on. Everything was moving  _ so fast _ . Someone was flashing a light in his eye and he squirmed away. 

“Don't you think that’s enough?” he heard a familiar voice snap.  _ Ainsley? _ He was in the hospital. The smell of antiseptic and death was unmistakable (or maybe he was just being a pessimist). His head lolled to the side, blurry eyes focusing on his sister. She dug her nails into her palms, trying to stop herself from rushing over to him. She forced herself to walk calmly, trying her best not to spook him. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, taking his hand in hers gingerly. Her hands were warm, a stark contrast to his cold skin. He smiled weakly. 

“Hey.” His voice cracked and she reached over, grabbing the cup of water on the desk next to his bed. He took a sip and she pulled it away before he could get too carried away. 

“It’s late. I made Gil take mom home and convinced the detectives to leave,” she told him. He was grateful; a whole room of people probably would not have been the best thing for him to wake up to. 

“How long…” She bit her lip, looking away. 

“You've been out for two days,” she said after a moment of composing herself. “Before that you were…  _ gone  _ for three.” She took a shaky breath, blinking as she glanced away. “You were gone for  _ three days _ , Malcolm.” 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, feeling the pull of sleep trying to drag him back under. He wondered what kind of meds they had him on. 

“Not your fault,” she murmured. She reached forward to brush his hair away from his eyes. “Just, uh, don't do it again. All right?” Her voice became choked up near the end. He nodded. 

“Of course, Ains,” he mumbled as he slipped out of consciousness. He thought he heard a soft sob as the beeping that filled the room became quieter and quieter before it faded out completely. 

~~~ 

Malcolm thought he felt someone’s eyes on him. He cracked one open, expecting to see one of the  _ many  _ people who had been mother henning him all week. He was surprised to see Emma standing at the foot of his bed instead. She looked eerily similar to how she had in his hallucination, dressed in her regular clothes instead of a hospital gown while still sporting her colorful bruises. 

“Howdy,” she greeted. He chuckled. 

“Hi,” he said. She squinted at him. 

“You look worse than I do,” she commented. “And Olive would tell you, that’s saying something.” 

“I always appreciate the support,” he snarked. She grinned, clearly relieved that he sounded like himself. “They released you already?” 

“Well, yeah, it’s not like my injuries were that bad-” 

“Not that- what?” 

“And I can't exactly afford to be languishing in the hospital, now can I?” she continued despite his interruption. 

“Your bills should have been paid for,” he muttered, a frown creasing his brow slightly. 

“Thank you for that,” she said seriously. “But either way, I wasn't hurt bad enough to stay here. Speaking of, I'm sure that you're going stir crazy by now.” 

“You could say that,” he said, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “I'm being released tomorrow.” 

“Good.” She looked down as her phone buzzed. She read the text and sighed. “I've got to go. Olive says that she hopes you heal soon.” She smiled and waved, shutting the door behind her. He looked at where she had been standing a moment before. 

“Yeah, me and her both,” he muttered to himself. He couldn't wait to get back into the classroom. He pondered for a moment, wondering if he could get his discharge papers  _ now _ . He was sure Dani would help him out if he asked… 

_ Fin.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, y'all, I'm not so good at the comfort, so here is... whatever this is. :)


End file.
